


Patience is the Greatest Revenge

by chaosfay



Series: Delylah and Cullen [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Childhood, Revenge, patience - Freeform, patient, reputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosfay/pseuds/chaosfay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delylah was only eight-years-old, but intelligence and patience have no age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience is the Greatest Revenge

“Your hair is gross, ‘lylah.  You really need to comb it out, make it pretty again.”

That was the usual thing Delylah heard every morning, and several times a day.  She was only eight years old and could have taken to crying about it.  Instead she chose to ignore the insults and ignorance of her fellow apprentices.  They knew nothing about her hair or how to take care of it.    


She had started twisting her hair a year ago to get the dreadlocks her uncle, a Templar in the Ostwick Circle she lived in, had had for years.  Delylah loved his hair, and spent time with him talking about how to get her own to develop into dreadlocks.  It was a common thing for people with her type of hair to do, and none of her fellow apprentices could do this.  It was a personal joy for her.

The insults were not.    


When Delylah’s uncle wasn’t on duty, he would spend time with her.  They had grown close since she was brought to the Circle by her parents just two years ago.  He was her only family now as far as she was concerned, and his superiors saw no reason not to allow them to bond. 

He helped her with preparations for the process of developing the dreadlocks.  They spent several hours twisting it, much to Delylah’s delight.  He taught her how to maintain and wash the dreads and how to keep her hair healthy and beautiful.  The other Templars mocked him only a few times, but something must have happened or been said because they stopped when Delylah told her uncle how much it hurt that the other apprentices were also making fun of her.

She loved her hair and had no intention of changing it.  Let the other apprentices be ignorant.    


“Why do you have ugly snakes for hair?  You look like a monster.”

Not exactly how she wanted to start her day, but Delylah ignored them.  Every morning she woke up early to work on maintaining her hair.  The dreads started maturing just a few months after starting the process.  Now, a year later, they required less work.  Simply washing her hair once a week was enough.

“Why do you use that stuff on your hair?  It’s weird.”

Delylah used the oils and other things her uncle told her were necessary to take care of her hair.  The other apprentices didn’t understand.  How could they?  Their hair was limp and lazy; hers had been fluffy with tight curls.  They slept with cotton pillows and cotton pillowcases.  She slept with satin and a hair cap.  On cold nights they shivered and complained about cold ears.  She was nice and toasty with no reason to whine.  Their hair looked greasy and gross by the end of the day, and if they skipped washing they looked particularly disgusting.  Some of them had hair so dry it looked dull as hay.  Hers was soft, beautiful.  Let them suffer; she just smiled.

“You look like an old lady with that on your head every night.”

The temptation to tell them they sounded like an old lady with their whining was very strong, but she wouldn’t be doing herself any favors if she told them that.  Her uncle told her so and helped her realize how being different wasn’t a bad thing.  Not responding seemed to encourage the other apprentices to try harder, but Delylah’s skin thickened.  She was better than them, and they knew it.  She learned faster, her magic was more powerful, and focus came easy.  Her memory was just as impressive, and studying was hardly necessary.  Perhaps it was due to her parents starting her tutoring when she was only four--the rigorous reading lessons she had every day, mathematics three days a week, and music once a week.  Delylah remembered everything she was taught.

Yes, she was better and knew it.  Her uncle warned her only once not to show off, and she took that warning to heart.  Delylah wasn’t well liked for a variety of reasons, the first being the fact she was nobly born.  Very few in Ostwick Circle came from noble families.  It was enough to make them hate her, or at least that’s what it felt like.

“You’ll be made Tranquil because of how strong your magic is.  You just watch!”

That scared her.  It was one of the very few things that made her want to cry.  The Tranquil didn’t scare or bother her; she just didn’t want to be one of them.  They never laughed, the way they talked was strange, and some of the apprentices played pranks on them.  No, Delylah didn’t want to be made Tranquil.  What if the apprentices were right?  She asked one of the Tranquil if it was true, and he had told her he didn’t remember the exact reason for why he was made this way.  All he knew was he had been unable to control his magic.

She could control hers.  Delylah worked harder than anyone else to keep her magic from lashing out.    


Sometimes, during the summer, wearing her nightcap was uncomfortable.  It was particularly hot that night, and using magic without permission was against the rules.  Her hair was long, the dreadlocks reaching to nearly her waist.  She hadn’t realized her hair had been long in the first place because of the curls.  Unlike so many others, her hair grew quickly and strong.  It had started making it difficult to sleep with the cap on now.  With it being so hot, it was now even more difficult.  Delylah decided to forgo wearing it tonight.    


In the morning she woke up to shorter hair.  Someone had cut it during the night!  She screamed, surrounded by dozens of pieces of her hair all over her pillow, her chest, her bed.  She held them close, crying uncontrollably.  Her magic flared, freezing her bed, then the walls and floor before a Templar barged into the room she shared with six other mages.  He drained her of her mana, leaving her feeling empty.  First her hair had been chopped and now a Templar had taken her power.  Delylah fainted.  When she woke up she was in the infirmary, her uncle sitting in the chair beside the bed, in full armor.  She started crying again, rage and hurt, loss and betrayal nearly overwhelming her.  It took his gentle voice and kindness to calm her down.    


“I’m ugly now.”

They stayed there for several hours, her uncle repeatedly having to weaken her lest her power come free of her focus.  A Tranquil arrived with shears, and it was seeing her that reminded Delylah of what she didn’t want to be.  Her hair was cut to her shoulders.  The thin dreads didn’t look ugly, but she still felt wrong.  A part of her had been cut away.

Then her uncle told her not to lash out at those who did this.  Delylah didn’t know who had; it was a mystery to her.  So many had mocked her, insulted her, and said cruel things.  She had no friends among them.  Instead of feeling pity for herself, as so many others may have felt, she felt something else.  She didn’t know the word for her feelings, but it must be strong because that’s how Delylah felt.    


She spoke to the First Enchanter, someone she had never met.  The apprentices never saw anyone but the lower Enchanters, their teachers and tutors.  Those in positions of real power were too busy to pay attention to any of the apprentices.  The First Enchanter was a beautiful woman with skin like hers, but darker.  She reminded Delylah of clear nights with the new moon.  Her hair was what Delylah’s used to be like, but instead of red hers was black as the expensive inks, and when the light hit it just right it looked like the rich topaz Delylah’s mother had on a necklace she wore.  The First Enchanter was the most beautiful woman Delylah ever seen.

“You’re not ugly, nor is your hair.”    


They spoke for hours that day, and for several days thereafter.  The First Enchanter told her to wait, to let those who did this to her think they had won.    


“Make them think you’re hurt.  Cry at night, let the tears flow, but don’t feel the grief or pity.  They must feel safe.”

That’s what she did.  For the first two weeks she did cry, and for several months after that she avoided them when she could.  Delylah would cower if they said cruel things, kept her head down, touched her hair and flinched.  Inside she let the coals burn, hot but not overwhelming.    


Delylah learned how to control her power even more.  She would not be made Tranquil because of what the other apprentices had done.  They would win if that happened, and she would feel and do nothing about it.    


It took two and a half seasons to figure out who had done this.  Her cowering and shying away from any attention made them feel safe enough to whisper about it.  One of them was foolish enough to keep a journal.  They had written down, in detail, what they had done.  There were names.  She took the journal to the First Enchanter when the apprentice was busy with lessons Delylah was no longer required to attend (having advanced so quickly).

“Now we can do something about what they have done to you.  You have done well, Delylah, and for that I am proud.  Don’t let them suspect what we’re going to do.”

Her uncle and two other Templars joined them for a long talk.  It took speaking to her uncle’s superior, revealing who had done this.  She showed all four of them what had been written in the journal.  They agreed to the plan.    


A few days passed as things were made ready.  Delylah was told to place a sleeping draught into their drinks.  It was a strong one, and they wouldn’t wake for several hours.  The Templars took the apprentices to the dungeon in the underground level of the tower.  Everyone noticed their absence.  Three days later Delylah visited them with the First Enchanter.    


Never in her life had Delylah felt more satisfied.

“Please let us out!  PLEASE!”

“We’re so sorry.  We’ll never hurt you again.  Never.  You have our promise.”

“Why did you put us here?  It’s only hair!  That’s no reason to put us here!”

They yelled, cried, their voices filled with fear and shame.  It wasn’t until all three of them were begging that the First Enchanter and Knight-Captain let them out.  They walked this time, during the lunch hour when everyone was taking their midday break from lessons.  There wasn’t a single apprentice who didn’t see their walk of shame.

After that no one bothered Delylah.  No insults, no teasing, nothing at all.  She was given more respect than any other apprentice.  No one tried to hurt her in any fashion.  When new apprentices arrived, they were warned by the others.  Delylah had a reputation now.  She was ruthless, cold, intelligent, patient, and had friends in high places.  Don’t anger or harm her.    


One of the Enchanters taught her a reaction spell, something small that would occur only if someone touched her hair without warning her or asking permission.  It was used only twice, resulting in the two apprentices who did to lose a few fingers when they froze solid.  Of course she was publicly scolded, but never punished because it was considered self-defense, something relatively acceptable in the Ostwick Circle.

The reputation never faded.


End file.
